


A Study in Friendship

by goldvermilion87



Category: Star Trek, StarTrek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldvermilion87/pseuds/goldvermilion87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock, McCoy, and Kirk approach friendship in very different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ἀρετή** , ἡ, _goodness, excellence_ in any art
> 
> " _I endeavor to be accurate"_
> 
> –Errand of Mercy

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired._

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired of study and research._

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired of being expected to be perfect with respect to their study and research._

It was nearing the end of gamma shift, and even as he worked, the words went around and around in Spock's mind. He had been working two shifts on and one shift off for three weeks now, and he had no desire to work his second shift before he took time for some rest and meditation.

Spock's grueling schedule did not comply with regular procedure, but there had been an outbreak of a highly contagious bacterial infection of the lungs, with symptoms similar to those of pulmonary anthrax, in the science labs. Some inexcusably incompetent ensign's inability to follow normal safety procedures while working with newly discovered, potentially hazardous biological materials, had sent twenty-eight scientists to sick bay, and necessitated that twenty-five more work to find some way to slow the progress of a disease that could be fatal. If the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ had been near a starbase when the outbreak occurred, this might not have much mattered, as Dr. McCoy had managed to discover a cure for this previously unknown disease within several hours of its discovery. However, one of the chemicals vital to the cure was nearly gone from the Enterprise's depleted stores. They did not have enough to manufacture medicine for all the scientists who had been infected. The ship had been several hundred lightyears into previously uncharted territory when the infection broke out, and they were still a 7.36 days' journey at maximum warp from any Federation civilization. The disease, it seemed, was under control, but until it could be eradicated, the science department would be seriously understaffed.

Spock, of course, did his part to substitute for the scientists who were out of commission. The Science department was his responsibility, and even though he had been able to identify the delinquent ensign, that ensign was too ill even to be reprimanded for his unconscionable error, much less able to do anything to correct it, so that task fell to Spock. All the scientists were taking on extra loads, but Spock, as head of the department, and as a Vulcan, was doing far more.

And so it was that at the end of gamma shift Spock was bending over his scanner, feeling the cold of the human-normal ship's temperature in a way he rarely did; feeling the strain on his lower back from bending at such an awkward position in a way he rarely did; and feeling the burn in his dry eyes as he looked into the blue light of the scanner in a way he never had in his experience on the Enterprise. He had another full shift to work when this ended in 26.8 minutes, and as much as he hated to admit it — in fact he never would admit it to anyone but himself — he was exhausted, not to a state of collapse, but to a state of supreme irritability.

The oddest aspect of this particular feeling of irritability was that it was directed at none other than himself. Irritation at Dr. McCoy was a feeling not unknown to him. Irritation at inept crewmembers was a feeling . . . admittedly, it was a feeling he had known he would struggle against when he agreed to serve on a ship manned almost exclusively by humans. But to irritate oneself? That was illogical.

Why was he irritated at himself, then? The bridge crew had just spent several hours navigating a dense asteroid field, and he had been providing Sulu, who was at the helm, with very precise information regarding locations, density, trajectory, etc. of the asteroids in their near vicinity. Now they were out, and his human half did not want to continue making such accurate calculations.

He had used all the logical arguments he knew to convince himself otherwise. He had reminded himself of the stories that he had been told as a very young Vulcan, about ships that had been destroyed due to human negligence in calculations. A Vulcan, he had been warned, should never — _would_ never — make such an error, because to do less than accurate work was illogical. He had appealed to his own pride as a Vulcan. What if his information was transmitted to the _Intrepid_ , and some of the Vulcans there saw it, and recognized its inaccuracies? Three of its crewmembers had twitted him as a child about his half-human heritage. It would never do. But neither logic nor pride was enough motivation. Not even the memory of his mother's human proverb, "Anything worth doing is worth doing well," helped.

Captain Kirk walked in while he was giving Mr. Sulu the last reading of his shift. He heard perfectly, with his Vulcan ears, as Sulu then briefed Kirk on the situation. He took the few minutes while the captain read and signed status reports, to sit down, and close his burning eyes, and drink some of the water a yeoman had brought for him. He briefly considered requesting a few minutes to rest in his quarters, but, when he calculated the time he could be spared, he recognized that he would expend almost as much energy making his way to his cabin and back as he would recuperate in his room. It was not worth the trouble.

"Time to arrival at Starbase 6, Mr. Spock?"

He could just say seven days. He did not need to check their rate of travel, or the degree to which they diverged from their original course, to avoid the tail end of that asteroid field a few minutes before the captain came in.

Yet he was Vulcan. Vulcans were accurate.

But he was tired and irritated.

But it was expected of him to be accurate.

And then the mantra, running through his head again:

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired._

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired of study and research._

_Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans do grow tired of being expected to be perfect with respect to their study and research._

Habit won out in the end. He turned to the scanner and gathered his data. When he turned back to reply, he found that the captain was standing near his station, looking concerned.

"Spock? Are you…"

"7.435 days, Captain."

And then Jim smiled. It was that look of awe, bemusement, and affection that he received, now that he thought about it, every time he gave his captain a Vulcan-accurate reading.

"Thank you, Spock." Spock was about to turn back to his scanner, when he felt a warm hand on his arm. "Spock."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been working pretty hard over the past few weeks, and that must be taking a toll, even on you. I'm sure we can find someone else to take over if you're too tired right now."

"No, Captain. I do not need to rest. The average Vulcan has much more stamina than the average human."

Jim looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure? Even Vulcans must get tired of working — not to mention of performing to the standards of perfection that we humans have for them . . . or at least that we on the _Enterprise_ seem to have for you, Spock."

Spock knew that Jim could tell when he was lying. He would not be able to put on a brave face to protect his Vulcan pride. For any other man on the ship he could, but not for his captain. And yet, as he opened his mouth to try (somewhat illogically) to convince Jim of the lie anyway, he realized that he did not have to do so.

Rational arguments had not been as motivational to him as they should to a Vulcan. But this irrational emotion — the warmth that he felt, that seemed to radiate, almost physically, from the man he was no longer ashamed to call a friend — this pleasure was enough to change his whole outlook. Now that he had the proper motivation, he found that he was a true Vulcan, and he could sustain another shift. In fact, if his captain asked him to play a game of chess afterwards, he might find that he did not need all of the hours of his free shift to meditate and recuperate. He looked Jim straight in the eye.

"Captain, I am not unduly tired. My duties on the _Enterprise_ are far from onerous, and it is my honor and privilege to fulfill them."


	2. Charis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **χάρις** , ἡ, on the part of the Doer, _grace_ , _graciousness_ , _kindness_ , _goodwill_
> 
> " _Shut up, Spock! We're rescuing you!"_
> 
> –"The Immunity Syndrome"

"What the heck were you thinking, Spock? Letting yourself get this worn down! You'd better be glad we're only one day from Starbase 6, because I have no idea how this infection is going to interact with your green blood!"

It was infuriating! For a self-professed devotee of logic, Spock could be so . . . so stupid at times. Leonard was only three years older than Spock, so why should he have to babysit him!? He started to untie Spock's boots.

"Doctor . . . I . . . "

"No, Spock. Lie back down and be quiet. You are in absolutely no state to be doing anything for yourself. You are an adult by Vulcan standards, right? Only I don't know how that works on your planet. On Earth full grown adults are responsible for their own self-preservation! No, don't answer. I have to get your shirt off. Come on, you can sit up for me . . . You, Jim! Don't you dare come a step nearer to this bed."

Jim, as if to compound his earlier foolishness in half carrying the clearly infected Vulcan to sickbay, was about to try to help Leonard get Spock's shirt off.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself, Jim. And anyway, I can't believe you have the nerve to try to help now. You know when your men are working and when they aren't. You know that Spock needs rest just like anyone else. How could you let this happen? How on earth could you allow him to take three shifts in a row?"

He was glad to see that Jim did look ashamed of himself, but it did not soften him.

"He . . . the captain didn't kno-"

"Spock. If you make one more sound, I swear I will knock you out with this hypo before you can say 'little green men.' Even if he didn't know about that last triple shift — or that absurd decision to enter quarantine for a better sample of the Bacterium! — he should never have let you take two shifts in a row for weeks. Stay sitting up. You'll breathe easier. Hang on. NUR—Oh . . . I'll just take one of these." He grabbed a few pillows from the next empty bed, and started propping Spock up with the extra ones.

"Well, Doc, to be fair, you did sign off on all the shift reassignments."

"Jim, I don't care. I was here busy trying to keep all these people from dying. Pass me that extra blanket, will you? I didn't have time to check up on you. You were on the bridge with Spock for hours every day. How could you not have seen that he was exhausted?"

"You're right, I should have-"

"Don't put your hand anywhere near your face, James Tiberius Kirk!" Leonard grabbed Jim's wrist just in time to prevent him putting his head into his hands. "You touched Spock when you carried him in here. You may be infected, too."

"I'm sorry, Bones . . . so sorry." Jim dropped down into the chair, looking absolutely miserable. Leonard was still very angry — and still very scared. Who wouldn't be when he saw his two best friends stumble into sick bay, one hardly able to breathe?

"Jim, I don't want you to leave sickbay either. I won't put you in the general quarantine, but I want you to go into that room, and get some rest, so we can observe you, and see if you start showing any symptoms. Take this blanket — I don't think there is one on the bed in there. We're less than twenty-four hours from Starbase 6, and then we'll have the materials to get all these people better very quickly. And Spock will be okay, too. Alright? In there. And I don't want to hear a word of complaint! D'you hear me?"

He watched Jim go into the adjoining room, pull off his boots, and lie down on the bed. Then he looked down at Spock, and saw that he was watching their captain as well.

"He'll be fine, Spock. Now I want you to sleep or meditate, or whatever the heck it is that you Vulcans do. But not another word! Do you need another blanket?"

"H-how can I answer that if-"

"Sh! Here. Another blanket will do you good. Now don't move from here until I come back."

Leonard left grumbling to himself. Those two men would be the death of him!


	3. Philia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **φῐλία** , ἡ, friendly love, affection, friendship
> 
> " _A dream that made Mr. Spock and I brothers"_
> 
> –"Whom Gods Destroy"

The face framed by those garish orange pillows was so pale it was frightening. It was always hard for Jim to watch Spock when he was ill or injured, because Spock's face would never show even a hint of the reddish hue that all healthy human faces had. But he was relieved by several things. First, Spock was lying back for the first time in a week. His lungs were finally cleared enough so that he could have what Jim considered a proper rest — because he didn't care what Spock said: sleeping sitting up was not comfortable. Second, Spock's breathing was slow and nearly silent — his rapid wheezing had frightened Jim nearly to death. And finally, he did think Spock looked more normally green, though he really couldn't say for sure. He tucked the three blankets more closely around Spock's chin. He had been amazed over the past week by how cold the Vulcan seemed, even with the room's temperature being set in the high nineties Fahrenheit. Jim himself couldn't stay in the room if he were wearing the long sleeved command gold, so he had taken to borrowing Bones's scrubs when he sat up with Spock. He noticed that one of Spock's hands had slipped over the side of the bed, and instead of replacing it beneath the covers, he held it.

He cursed himself again as he looked at Spock's face. He should have paid more attention to how hard Spock was working. He had thought he could tell when Spock was lying to him — when Spock was only pretending that he had the extra Vulcan energy necessary to go on without rest. Obviously he had thought wrong, and as a result he spent almost all week thinking he'd killed the man who was more than a brother to him — closer to him than any other being had ever come. He almost teared up at the thought. But it was over, and there was no logical reason to cry. Besides, Spock was waking up, and it would never do for him to see that.

"How are you doing, Spock?"

Spock blinked a few times, and looked like he was getting his bearings. "Jim?"

"Can I get you anything? Are you warm enough? There are more blankets. Does your head hurt? Bones left me with a hypo. He said it might . . ."

"Jim!" Spock raised an eyebrow, and somehow managed to inject superciliousness into that one hoarse syllable.

"Hmm?"

"The temperature is acceptable, and my head does not hurt. I would . . . I would not, however, be averse to a glass of water."

"Of course." Jim walked over to where a nurse had left a pitcher of water and some cups. He poured one for Spock. Spock's voice actually sounded pretty good for someone who could hardly breathe two days ago — not to mention the fact that he had enough energy to revert back to the ridiculous formality of phraseology that he had abandoned in favor of concision when he was unable to draw enough breath to allow for his normal patterns of speech (and it was catching! Maybe he had started compensating for the loss of Spock-speak by reconstructing it in his mind?)

Jim helped Spock sit up, and rearranged the pillows behind his back, and resisted the urge to hold the cup to Spock's lips himself.

"You probably shouldn't talk much, Spock. Well, you definitely shouldn't. Bones said something about extra days in sick bay if you weren't quiet . . . But would you like me to read to you? That might help you pass the time. Or maybe you'd rather just go back to sleep?"

Spock seemed to consider for a moment. "Chess?"

"Sure! I'll get the set from my cabin. I'll be back in no more than five minutes. I promise!" Jim left sickbay and jogged back to his quarters. It was the middle of gamma shift, so there weren't too many people roaming the halls, or using the turbolift. He swept the chess pieces off of the board into a cloth bag he had for them, and then picked up the bulky 3D chess set. When he got back, Spock quirked an eyebrow again.

"Five minutes and forty-three seconds, captain."

Jim laughed. That was his Spock, shining through the hoarseness and extra-paleness!

"Do you want to move the pieces yourself, or do you want me to move them as you tell me to?"

Spock seemed to be considering the pros and cons of each option. Jim had to admit to himself that while Spock did not enjoy being in sickbay, and needled Bones as much as possible when he was confined there, when the rubber met the road (An expression he hadn't tried on Spock yet!) he was usually very reasonable about his own strengths and weaknesses. A benefit of being logical, Jim supposed.

"I think…hem!…I think it would be easiest if I told you where to move the pieces." He started coughing again. Jim jumped up and got another cup of water for him.

"Too bad you can't telepathically move the pieces, eh Spock?"

"Captain that would be tele—" he coughed slightly, "telekinetic, not telepathic."

Jim laughed again. "You've lost your voice and you still can't help correcting me! Well, I guess I deserve it. I shouldn't have made that mistake."

"No indeed, captain, as it is . . ."

"Spock. I do not want you wasting breath on an explanation. If it will make you happier, I'll be a good student and look it up in the Vulcanian Historical Dictionary of Standard as soon as you go back to sleep."

As the chess game progressed, Spock's voice got a little weaker, and he coughed a few times. Jim was careful to help him, but he knew that to stop now would only frustrate his friend. He was glad when Spock made a foolish move that exposed his king, and Jim was able to checkmate him. He knew Spock had done it on purpose because he needed to sleep. And he knew that Spock knew he wasn't pulling the wool over his eyes. But neither would say as much out loud.

"Here Spock. I'll leave the chessboard here — that way I won't have to lug it back in after my shift tomorrow. I'll stop by during my lunch hour, and we'll plan to play chess tomorrow evening?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Bones said he thought you'd be out and about in two days at the most, so no worries there. I won't let you onto a normal shift for at least four days." Here Spock's eyebrows seemed to indicate alarm, so Jim added, "but you'll be able to check in on the science labs and such."

Spock looked relieved.

"Well . . . I guess I'll leave you to sleep. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," Spock whispered sleepily.

Jim watched him for a few more moments. Then he looked up to the monitor above the bed. He really wished he could identify Vulcan normal. But, come to think of it, he didn't know how to read the monitors for humans either… He'd just have to check with Bones.

"Lights, ten percent." And with a final fond smile at his sleeping friend, he walked out of the darkened room.


End file.
